The Parody Within
by MendaciousMinx
Summary: Over the centuries, artists have written dramas, tragedies, epic romances, and sagas which will go down in history as the most moving things ever read. This fic is to these stories what a fuzzy purple golfball is to the pyramids. Logic is an option.


AN: IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ! I've probably broken some sort of law with this fic; I dunno. Don't be offended, because pride is for the weak and the stupid and I don't wanna deal with your whining right now. Laugh at my jokes, or die trying.

We will begin our story, as is customary, with a paragraph indicating the position and situation of our hero and his loyal companions. This is not due to the author's lack of originality, as you will find out soon enough, but more due to the fact that the three A.M. hour is not a friendly one, and said author has just read seventy fanfics which immitated this pattern. Fear not; the authors of those pieces will burn in Hell for their ill-meaning savagery.

Aang felt fantastic. His stomach was full, he'd mastered all four elements, and Katara was smiling at him. The sky was blue, Sokka was asleep on Appa's back (and thus making far less noise than usual), the trail they were walking along wound pleasantly between two rows of trees, Prince Zuko was at least three days behind them, and he was rather amused at the fact that the first paragraph the author had been so passionate about had just become a blasphemous, hideous creature which had spent the reader's valuable time brutalizing the sacred laws of grammar. Everything would have been just swell, just grand, just absolutely peachy, if it weren't for the facts.

Fact: Aang was the Avatar

Fact: The Avatar must master all four elements

Fact: The elements frequently encounter technical difficulties

Fact: They were currently undergoing a major technical difficulty

Ergo: Aang was in for Hell

Hell announced its arrival with a cliché. Bad things have a bizarre tendency to do this, and the reason is unknown. So far, the best theory we have as to the reason bad things usually announce themselves with clichés was brought to our attention by a dairy farmer in Indiana, and this theory was that bad things watch far too many Sean Connery films.

The particular cliché that Hell announced itself with on this individual occasion was a dark cloud covering the sun. At this point, one should be envisioning this to the theme of 'Jaws', as it enhances the cliché effect. Clichés are always best when enhanced by a repetitive soundtrack which had, in itself, become a cliché.

Aang responded to the cliché instantly, rising to his feet and answering it with the time-honored and ritualistic counter-cliché; a very determined face, with little or no action actually involved. Katara rushed to wake Sokka, less out of alarm at the cliché (clichés followed Aang around like rather hideous and malnourished puppies) than out of concern that he might drown in the puddle of his own saliva in which he was currently lying face down.

At this point, the amusing anecdotes will cease for a short time out of respect for the cliché which threatens our hero, his love interest, and the comic relief.

The black cloud which had drifted across the sun seemed to darken by the second, a sinister rumbling emanating from it. Aang reached out with a tendril of his power and tried to discern what was threatening them, but the action bounced back and the shock ran through his body like a lightning bolt. Quickly recovering himself, Aang turned to Katara. "Stay low; it's not something we've encountered before."

Katara nodded, and Sokka followed suit. They knew enough to trust Aang in such matters.

The cloud was reforming itself into a thick, solid object; a person, actually. Whatever it was appeared to be robed and hooded all in black, every inch of its face in shadow. It advanced slowly, meticulously, every step calculated and careful. Somehow, impossibly, a red shape gaped open beneath the hood. A mouth, impossibly wide, surrounded by rows and rows of serrated teeth.

As the creature advanced Aang prepared himself for battle. The chance to engage in the aforementioned activity would be denied him, however, as when the thing was within just two arms' distance of him it was shoved rudely away by a glowing ball of white energy.

Aang blinked owlishly, and wondered if Sokka had spiked his orange juice.

The white light was pursued by a girl, or, more accurately, a young woman (Aang realized this with a slight blush upon the searing contact of his eyes with her rather scant clothing). She wore a slim golden band around her chest, which widened in the center just enough to cover the essentials, and a metallic loincloth of the same blindingly reflective material.

At this point, it should be noted that Katara was glowering rather heatedly. So much so, in fact, that Sokka was beginning to doubt that the mystery girl would live to flounce about in her metal lingerie much longer, a prospect which saddened him to the utmost degree. Inwardly, he was reciting scenes from Hamlet.

The dark creature was quickly driven off by the newcomer, who turned to them cheerily. "Hello, there! You must be the Avatar! My, how big and strong you are! And handsome, to boot!" This was followed by a high-pitched giggling which drove the trio's eardrums into their skulls.

Aang blushed, smiling sheepishly at the new arrival. "Um, yeah, that's me."

Another giggle.

At this point the overly-attractive and scantily-clad female was struck dead by a rogue lightning bolt, because she was a Mary-Sue and therefore the epitome of all evil. All that was left afterwards was a lump of ash and some twisted pieces of charred metal.

The dark villain from earlier stepped out of the woods and threw off her hood, revealing herself to be the author, particularly annoyed at the proceedings of a fic which had just been blasted completely to Hell. "Shit," she said simply, before vanishing into a rift of improbability.

This left our three heroes to stand in the clearing, staring at the pile of ash and the closing rift and speculating on what that plot would have been like, had reality not intervened. Soon enough, however, the distant rumble of the Fire Nation Army reached their ears, accompanied by a high-pitched squealing (obviously Prince Zuko). Shrugging their shoulders, they climbed back into the saddle and set off once more down the trail.

None of them were particularly unnerved by these events, or sad on the Mary-Sue's behalf; they weren't exactly a dying breed.

Somewhere in the distance, the author tried to think of a good conclusion but became distracted when the rift of improbability snatched her back up and dropped her into English class, resulting in a run-on sentence which the teacher promptly noted and flunked her for.

THE END

At this point, the author would like it noted that she has the almost overwhelming urge to add "Or is it", but has restrained herself in an admirable effort to allow you to retain what few brain cells you may have left after reading this.


End file.
